


Decision

by Akaisha_Loire



Series: Pen pals are the Best pals [2]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Drug Addiction, Fluff, M/M, Open Ending, Rehab, letter writing, minor canon racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 07:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16090991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaisha_Loire/pseuds/Akaisha_Loire
Summary: Nick's life is changed, a decision made, by a stranger on the other-side of a handwritten letter.





	Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiminnienuggets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminnienuggets/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Jiminnienuggets who got me into this ship after I had basically given up on Fear after two eps. into Season 3. She encouraged me to finish, and I fell in love with this ship, so now I'm in this hell hole of what could have and SHOULD have been.
> 
> This fic is technically a tester fic, to get the feel of the characters before I write more for them. So many tropes, so little time.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Edit: Amazing artwork gifted to me by PunkyIggy! Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this made my day!

 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/144356398@N05/43210399080/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Letter writing, that was their great idea for his therapy.

 

Nick can admit, the therapist at Sunrise were better than some of the other places he’d been, but they were also more expensive. Thanks in part to Gloria and her rich parents who were probably afraid she’d relapse if they didn’t move him with her to this more upscale facility complete with pool and tennis courts, and the softest cotton sheets he’d ever slept in. A facility that thought the grand cure to his addiction was writing a letter. Not even emails, nothing digital, just letters, pen to college ruled paper, sent in the mail to a stranger.

 

Given that his options were either this or water aerobics twice a week to work out his excess energy, he chose the lesser of two evils. Gloria did the same, opting into writing a letter to a girl named Cassandra in Palo Verde, who was 18, and whose father died of an overdose when she was 15. Because it wasn’t enough to just make them write to people, but they had to write to people who had been victims, in someway, of addiction in their lives.

 

His victim was named Troy, aged 24, in San Diego.

 

Gloria seemed to have plenty to write, as she set to work almost immediately, using a gel pen, purple, scribbling furiously across the page.

 

Nick, on the other hand, wasn’t as quick witted. He stared at the page, willing words to come to him. Demanding that something come out of the blue standard ballpoint pen he’d been given by an orderly.

 

They were allowed an hour for this activity and come the end of the hour Nick is surprised he has as much as he does, and hands the letter off to their therapist who would mail it, probably after reading them, and would be giving them their responses at their next session. Until then, Nick gets to wander off in this day spa of a rehab pretending like his life isn’t shit, all because it’s a little brighter in here.

 

-

_Dear Troy,_

_I’m Nick. I’m 19...almost 20...I’m from LA. I have a sister, a mother, and a step-father…_

_I’m addicted to heroin._

-

 

_Dear Nick,_

_Why?_

-

 

One word, that’s all he got back from Troy, one word that took up three lines in it’s massive printing. Meanwhile, Gloria has a page and a half letter to devour; to respond to. He gets one word.

 

It pisses him off. He wants to say something to the guy on the other end of letters, maybe a nice but cordial, go fuck yourself, instead, he opts into actually answering the question, because he can see his therapist watching. Knows the woman had to read the answer, and was likely ready to hear a response he’d never give in group.

 

-

 

_Dear Troy,_

_Don’t know._

_It’s just something I do. Like I can’t stop. When I’m shooting, I feel, comfortable, warm, like a blanket on christmas morning with hot cocoa in my hands. I love how I feel like i’m dreaming, living in a happy bubble where reality doesn’t exist and my pain is no longer real. Maybe that’s exactly what it is..being high means I don't have to feel the pain of reality. I don't have to deal with the shit of my everyday life._

-

_Dear Nick,_

_How much shit can a rich kid in Sunrise have to deal with? Parents wouldn’t buy you that gold Mercedes?_

 

-

 

Nick glared.

 

What. An. Asshole.

 

Gloria, once again, had a full page to respond to, and he got two questions, both which were horribly condescending, and presumptuous. “This guy is a shithead,” Nick grumbles to Gloria who looks over at his measly exchange.

 

“Don’t let him get to you, Nicky,” she responded, picking up her gel pen.

 

“Hate when you call me that,” he grumbles, and she giggles. His father had called him that, the nickname left a bad taste in his mouth ever since his father’s untimely demise.

 

He decided not to justify any of that with a response instead, he posed a scenario, he wanted to get a feel for this Troy character. What kind of person was he, truly, at the heart of it all? Was he really this much of a dick? Nick supposed he couldn’t fault his assumptions, given that Troy was writing to a stranger, same as Nick.

 

-

 

_Dear Troy,_

_It’s the end of the world, let’s say zombie apocalypse, Night of the Living Dead, George Romero,  type shit._

_Do you:_

  1. _A) survive_



_Or_

  1. _B) become a zombie._



 

-

 

_Dear Nick,_

_I thrive._

_But there’s other factors to consider in this scenario. How are people turned? Is it a bite? Are we all infected so we all turn? These things are important to know._

_Where are we when the world goes down? Am I at home? At the supermarket? How fast does it go down? Is the military involved? What about the government? Does a national emergency broadcast go out? You can’t just say apocalypse and not give me more information._

-

 

_Dear Troy,_

_Uhhh...You’re from San Diego, right? Okay, let’s say that major cities, like LA, San Fran, San Diego, they go down fast because of riots, fighting in the street, so you get more zombies faster than normally, and lets say EVERYONE is infected, so no matter how you die, you turn, that makes it even faster._

_The military IS mobilized, but they’re going to avoid major cities prone to violence, like LA has a history of riots, so they’ll set up base outside of the city, lets say Corona or some small inlet. They’ll do this near most major cities, and they won’t mobilize help to those cities because they’d lose resources. Let’s also say, since everyone is infected, hospitals go down even faster because the rate of death occurring, it’s hard to control the situation. So, cities like LA and San Diego have to be napalmed with in 24 hours of the first major riot?_

_And go even further in this scenario, let’s put you DT San Diego, you choose the location, where’s somewhere in San Diego you like to go. Put yourself there, and tell me, how do you thrive?_

 

-

 

_Dear Nick,_

_This natural imagination or drug induced? Color me impressed. You have my attention._

_There’s a place I like, San Diego guns, near Mission Valley, let’s say I’m there when the first few infected show up. It’s not exactly DT, but to get back to my home, I’m going to have to cross pretty much the entire city to get back. Gun store might sound ideal, but people raid there first, wanting a weapon to use against what is ever out there. To be honest, I’m not even going to really fight, I’m going to take my shit, get back in my truck and gun it back down to where I live. Kind of, see no evil, sort of strategy._

_I know I’m safe where I live (my dad is one of those survivalists. Always preparing for end of days, types) so I would wait for the rest of the word to go straight to shit. Let ‘em burn, the strong will survive, and the rest will fall to Darwinism. Hell, I’d put more focus on the border, keep border hoppers at bay. If this is the end of the world, we don’t need to be sharing limited resources with their kind, you know?_

_Truth be told, anyone that made it across might serve a purpose. So, you say they're all infected, someone needs to figure out HOW LONG it takes to turn, right? Cue me, I’d figure it out. Kill someone close to death, kill someone at the height of their youth, see who takes longer, what’s the factors? Height, weight, relative age, all these things would need to be added together to figure out how long you have to get outta dodge. Important scientific research would need to be done for the good of humanity, and the betterment. If I know an old man is going to turn in thirty minutes flat, that’s enough time to burn the corpse to ensure no more zombies._

_BUT, what’s the elemental factor here? Are these zombies susceptible to the elements? What about decomp? Is rigor mortis taking effect? If so, their not much of a threat are they? After six hours, the madness is over, and we only have whose left to survive, and then my research wouldn’t be necessary._

 

-

 

His therapist had been hesitant to give him his letter next time they came around, and after reading it, he could understand why. According to Troy, he’d straight out kill people in the name of science, but Nick, and clearly his therapist, thought this was all hypothetical, in a fictional world where they’re overrun by zombies; no more than fantasy. Nick supposed if they were overrun by zombies, he couldn’t really fault Troy for doing what he wanted.

 

If Nick had to imagine himself in that scenario, he didn’t know how he would react. Would he kill? Would he kill to protect Alicia? To protect his mom? Would they kill to protect him? He wasn’t exactly sure. He was kind of glad this was all therapeutic letter writing.

 

-

 

_Dear Troy,_

_Racism aside, you ass._

_That’s kind of fucked up. You would just kill randoms to see how long they would take to turn? And let’s say in this magical universe, that no, elements don’t affect the zombies and decomp does eventually occur, it just takes much much longer._

_Me, personally, I think I would accept the world. I don't know if I would kill though. I like to think I would escape with my mom and my sister, but I’m not going to lie, if my mom is coming it means she brings the new husband, and the new husband would undoubtedly bring his son and his ex-wife; they’re still close, last time I heard. But where we would go from there?_

_Okay, let’s say, we heard intel that San Diego was good, so we make our way there, but boom, SD is gone. Our next bit of intel tells us Mexico is safe, there’s a refugee camp in Tijuana or Rosarito, or somewhere along the coast (and yes, I had to ask what cities there are in mexico. My therapist let me google). So let’s say my family and I meet someone with a boat, and that’s our means, we’ll sail down to Mexico on this intel. Water has to be safer than land. You’re a survivalist, but I feel more like I’d attempt to escape. Shit, maybe i’d just cover myself in gore and walk around with the zombies (in my head, they won’t bite anything that smells dead, so blood is perfect). Mom, too, seems like she’d try to keep our family together, despite being distant all these years, she’d made an effort. She basically clings to me like an octopus now. Checks once a week to make sure I haven't escaped rehab._

_So I think that’s what I’d do, safe on a boat, in the Pacific, sailing on to Mexico._

 

-

_Nick,_

_Is that essentially what all science boils down to? Someone getting hurt for the betterment of man? I mean, vaccines? Someone had to test them first before they were ready to send out into the world, right? Why would me testing the TOD on people be any different when I’m attempting to help people who are already thriving in this new world? Also, walking amongst the dead? That’s both terrifying, and kind of awesome. Suicidal much, Nicky?_

_So you got a boat? How are you going to refuel? Are you walking to SD from LA? No offense, that’s quite a trek. Got to think about all these variables. How many infected are going to be in your path? If there’s a boat in the scenario then I suggest taking it from LA and staying on the water till you get to Mexico, but don’t try to cross, because I’d be waiting for you. ;)_

 

-

 

Nick stared at his newest letter. Troy had actually drawn an winky face, like an emoji, on the paper to endcap his letter. The man was weird, to say the least, but he put a smile on Nick’s face, oddly enough.

 

-

 

_Troy,_

_Let’s get back to the real world for a minute, because I feel like you know more about me then I know about you. You know I have a sister, and a mom, a step-father, all the extended family. You know I’m addicted to heroin. I know nothing about you other than you’re 24 from San Diego, and you father is a survivalist (or is that part of the zombie game?). Therapist says I should open up more?_

_Share? To get her off my back?_

 

-

 

_Nick,_

_Brother, 28, like him._

_Father, alcoholic, yes, he’s a survivalist in real life. He’s got a website, and video series._

_Mother, dead, postpartum drinker, hate her._

_Can we go back to zombies? I was actually interested in that. Or another scenario? Like, pull some underworld shit out of your backpocket. I’m a werewolf, you’re a vampire, and go?_

 

-

 

_Troy,_

_You gave me a bit more than I’ve given you, so eye for an eye._

_Sister, 18, she’s..okay. Closest to her, but she’s the good kid. Going to Berkeley, I think it was._

_Mother, school counsel, just….always kind of distant. Always has been since..around age 10?_

_Dad, dead._

_Step-dad, history? English?, some kind of teacher._

_Step-brother, 15? 16?, he’s got major daddy issues. Only met him once, spent the whole time bitching about how they were meant to be a family with his mom. Life sucks kid, get over it._

_Fine, want a new scenario? Let’s go with the vampires, and werewolves things then. Let’s go, not modern setting, but not Renaissance either, like something in between, maybe steampunkish? Yeah, let’s say Steampunk. Let’s say the Clarks (Clark is my last name, by the way, I know that wasn’t shared) are a clan of vampires that operate a railway through four major cities in what is California. One of the tracks intersects with werewolf territory that was meant to be untouched by some treaty or some other plot device that exists in these scenarios._

_As the eldest son, I manage most of the comings and goings. What’s your role?_

_PS. waiting for me on the border? Was that a thinly veiled threat to shoot me?_

 

-

 

“I’m happy,” Nick told his mother, who looked taken aback, as if he’d grown a second head. Even Alicia looked up from her phone at his proclamation, yielding her text to Matt, which was usually her first priority.

 

“You’re happy,” his mom repeated, as if she didn’t know how the words were formed. “Happy.”

 

He could understand, every time they visited him in the past he looked haggard, as if he were waiting for them to turn their backs so he could escape; truthfully he usually was. But talking to Troy over the last three months just made him happy. Troy was so much like him in so many ways, it was almost like watching their paths diverge. Troy had chosen the road of being off alcohol, drugs, and the like, refusing to let himself become what his parents were. While Nick, well, Nick had coped in the way he’d coped.

 

That didn’t mean Troy was perfect, by any means, in fact, he’d eluded, more than once that he’d had issues in school that required his father to withdraw him and homeschool him. Probably along the lines of threatening to shoot someone for crossing the US border--Damn, right, Nicky, take you out, one shot.

 

Mainly, Troy said he’d spent a lot of time at home as a kid, and Nick had kind of filled in the blanks from there. It was a give and take of offering vague information, like when Nick told Troy he spent a lot of time in church; he just didn’t say what kind of church.

 

He legitimately liked talking to Troy. Enjoyed their odd mix of talking about themselves while also roleplaying these absolutely bonker scenarios. Which included Troy saying, as a werewolf, he’d bite vampires, see if they died from a wolf bite, chain them up, slowly skritch them to death for science. Nick was pretty sure Troy had some sociopathic tendency, despite that, Troy made him happy. Their correspondence made him happy, in ways Gloria never did.

 

Sure, Gloria got high with him. Gloria had sex with him--more of a thing to do when bored more than the actual enjoyment of sex--but when he really looked back on it, he kind of got what all his therapists said about her being an enabler.

 

“We’re thinking he might be ready for release before Christmas,” his counselor told his mother, who seemed to not believe her ears. He might just be home for Christmas.

 

-

 

_Troy,_

_Real life quandary now, there’s this girl, I've kind of mentioned her to you before (see, girl in church from like, two letters ago?) but the other day in session, i was told to think about the negative influences in my life, look back on all the people and how they affect me, what makes me keep using._

_Straight, I know I have an addictive personality. If it wasn’t heroin, it would be drinking or gambling, I just had access to drugs from a friend of mine. Same friend who introduced me to church girl, and when I thought back on my life, like I have so much resentment towards my mom, my sister, my dad, but I don't hate them. It’s not Alicia’s fault that she’s smart, driven, able to turn away from peer pressure. My mom was distant, but my dad was depressed, it couldn’t have been easy juggling two kids, while trying to finish school, help my dad, it had to have been hard, I get it._

_But then I look at my friend (girlfriend?) and we’ve been in every rehab facility together. Fuck, I’m in Sunrise because she basically threatened her parents if they didn't move me here to. Yeah, I remember your rich boy jab from the third letter. I’m not rich, but she is, and that’s how I came to end up at Sunrise because of her and the other day, after the family meeting, my friend, she tells me I did great, they totally bought it, like I was faking. And then she tells me she can’t wait till we’re out and we can have all the fun like we used to._

_And maybe my head is clear for the first time in, well, years, but for some reason it left a bad taste in my mouth. When I’ve gotten high, it’s always been with someone else. I can admit, confess, that there’s something about sex, when high that just..makes it better, physical wise, but emotionally, there’s absolutely nothing there, no substance, and fuck, if that’s not sick. Maybe that’s what she’s doing to me, she’s keeping me codependent, like my dealer did. Giving me a bit, then taking it away till i had no choice but to come back._

_The weird thing is, I told my mom I felt happy lately, naturally, for the first time in a very long time. I’ve been here nearly three months? Four months? I lose count. And for once, I feel like the junk is out of my system, but if I let her keep pulling me along…..I thought I needed her..but fuck..i dont even know anymore..it’s all messed up…_

_Sometimes, at night, I catch myself thinking...I use the junk to try and escape my life, my reality, but why does she? She has everything. Both her parents. They love her, they support her, she once complained to me that her dad wanted her to go to Harvard but her mom had wanted Stanford and it was so much pressure, and I can’t help but think..who complains about that shit? I just...it’s like..she had so much money she had no idea what to do with it so she started using and I don't know..maybe it’s those dark thoughts that sometime creep up on me. Is she slumming it with me? Am I some pet project?_

_Maybe I’m being to harsh, maybe she does like me, and i’m just..talking down on myself...fuck.._

 

-

 

_Nick,_

_Hear you get phone privileges_

_619-555-9800_

 

-

 

“What the hell?” Nick curses when he’s pushed from behind. He whips around to see Gloria, in all her rage gearing up to push him again. An orderly is running over, ready to alleviate the situation.

 

“What did you do?! I’m being moved to a different ward!”

 

“What…?”

 

“I was told that my being _here_ wasn’t helping certain other patients. You’re the only person I talk to! What did you say, Nick?!”

 

“I didn’t say…” he denied, shaking his head, looking around. He hadn’t said anything, but he had written that letter, and if he hadn’t been sure before that they were being read, he was now. She was being moved to a different part of the building because of what he’d said to Troy.

 

That would make family days more awkward, there was only one space in the entire facility for family day, and next time, his mom would be wondering why Gloria was glaring daggers instead of hearts like she’d been last time.

 

“I swear, Gloria, I didn’t say anything!” he continued. “Did you say something in your letter? To your pal?” he tried to deflect, and she calmed, her eyes searching, trying to go over her own words.

 

It was horrible of him, a manipulation, but he found himself moving forward, taking her face gently between his hands, looking at her, examining her. “Remember? We said we thought they were reading the letters. What did you say…?”

 

“I….” she paused. “I don't remember…”

 

They take her away, all the while, she’s probably thinking it’s because of something she said, when really, it was all his fault.

 

-

 

They get phone privileges every day, all they have to do is sign up for it. Nick held a regular block on Fridays at six pm when he knows his mom is home from work. He signs up for an additional block on Tuesday at one pm, that’s when he makes the decision to call Troy.

 

The booths are something like he’d expect in a prison, kind of like desks, with wired phones in the center, with a stool, waiting for them. There’s already three people on the phone, chatting loudly with whoever they’d called, and one spot open that he takes, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket, dialing in the number Troy had given him.

 

It rings once, twice, and then a voice is saying hello. A low voice, void of an accent, that Nick had always imagined people from SoCal would have. Instead, it’s an even tone, if not a bit winded, as if the person on the other end had been running. “Troy?” Nick tries, and the man on the other line groans before exhaling sharply.

 

“Nick, I’m guessing. So you really do sound like a whiny bitch then?”

 

“Eat shit, douchebag,” Nick snipes back and Troy laughs, loudly, something, an animal maybe, gives a sharp snort in response, loud enough for Nick to hear through the receiver.

 

Troy tsks. “That’s not very nice, Nicky, here I was, giving you my cell and all…”

 

It’s weird, Nick always hated that endearment. Whenever Gloria used it, or his mom, he felt his eye twitch in agitation, but when Troy said, almost taunting, it made something in his stomach flip, like coming down off a high; like he was going to vomit, without actually vomiting. “So, what are you up to? Running down innocent civilians escaping a horde?”

 

Troy laughs. “If innocent civilians names are Daisy, Marilyn, and Jedidiah then yes, I’m chasing innocent civilians with hay. My dad is wanting to breed Jed with either Daisy or Marilyn, but right now, he’s looking at them like their aliens. Socializing them isn’t going great.”

 

“And these are…?”

 

“Horses. They’re horses. I just finished feeding when you called, now I’m sitting on my truck, watching Jed avoid both mares like they have the plaque.”

 

“Huh, i’m sitting in a white room, talking to you, on the phone and early today I was forced to take a swim course.”

 

“Swim? Didn’t you say letter writing was helping you avoid the water aerobics?”

 

“No aerobics, lap swimming, racing, that kind of shit. I don't mind swimming, but I prefer laying on my back, floating kind of swimming.”

 

“Well, that lap swimming will come in handy when you’re on that boat sailing to Mexico.”

 

Nick laughs, shaking his head. “To true.”

 

Fifteen minutes is their allotted phone time, and never has he used the full length before. Normally, he calls his mom, who tells him she’s coming, with either Travis or Alicia, five minutes on and then off the phone. With Troy, he spends the full fifteen, talking about absolutely nothing. Even though they touch on Gloria it’s only long enough for Troy to say, “Fuck that bitch,” none to kindly before moving on. Troy decides that Jedidiah is gay because he practically runs from Marilyn when she approaches. They also determine that in their zombie apocalypse scenario that Nick would try to stab Troy in the eye, after Troy had said he would happily kill Nick just to see how long it took a drug addict to turn; Nick is oddly okay with that, Troy tells him not to be. Nick tells him he’s suicide proof, no worries.

 

“Call me tomorrow?” Troy asks at the end of their time.

 

“I’ll try to sign up for one o’clock again,” Nick tells him before they hang up, and that is that.

 

-

 

“Heard you’ve been making phone calls everyday,” Gloria conversates, the moment she’s transferred back to Nick’s ward. He thinks her parents must have pulled some strings because she was only in the other ward for a total of month. The time during which, Nick actually felt free to make his own choices, a fact that Troy pointed out to him every time they talked., usually with a scathing remark about Gloria.

 

Nick would openly admit, at times Troy came off as a total sociopath, but at other’s he was insanely sweet, reminding Nick of a sour patch  kid in that respect. A part of him thought, like Nick, he just needed someone to care for him, to actually want to talk to him and be with him for him, they had grown to be that in each other in just four months, nearing the five month mark.

 

He loved talking to Troy. Loved hearing what he was up to during the day. Sometimes it was collecting eggs from the chickens if he didn’t get out there in the morning; he was supposed to collect in the mornings. Sometimes he caught Troy just before milking the cows, which, apparently just meant hooking them up to machine to do all the work. Troy was a farm boy, through and through, while Nick was a city boy, that Troy swore needed to get away from, move out to the farm away from temptation. “Seems like there’d be a whole 'nother temptation out there, farmer john,” Nick had told him jokingly, just yesterday in their last call. It had rolled out naturally, flirty, without a single thought to spare to it; it just happened.

 

Troy’s silence had followed before he said in a low voice. “There just might be.”

 

Nick had never flirted with a guy before, on the contrary, he always seemed to favor women, as much as a young boy in puberty, already abusing drugs could favor a gender. But this new Nick, this Nick who had broken away from Calvin, broken away from Gloria, gotten clean, this Nick seemed to find the idea thrilling, or maybe it was just Troy that had him feeling excited about life.

 

“My penpal,” Nick says, leaving it there.

 

“Oh,” Gloria hums, hoping up onto the crafts table he’s sitting at, where he was indulging in some adult coloring books; Game of Thrones themed. “I stopped talking to Cassie. Turns out she was the one who turned me in. She apologized, said she called, worried that you were my enabler or something like that. Said if I kept being around you I’d just become a druggie again...so...I don’t talk to her anymore…”

 

Coincidence.

 

“..what gives her the right, you know? To judge me? To judge our relationship?”

 

He shrugs, coloring the dragon that sits on a woman’s shoulder. He’s never personally watched Game of Thrones--Troy has recommended it, demanded he watch it as soon as he gets access to HBO--but he thinks the woman in the picture is blonde, and makes it so.

 

“Are you listening?”

 

“Yep,” he answers, popping the ‘p’ like Gloria so often did.

 

“Like, if we want to move in together, that’s our prerogative and..”

 

“Actually, I’m thinking of moving to San Diego,” it’s out of his mouth before he stops it, making him realize he’d been thinking it for a while now. “I was talking to my counselor, she thinks it’s a great idea, a fresh start..” he lies. He hadn’t mentioned it to the woman yet, but that sounded like some shit she’d say to him. She’d probably be proud.

 

“And….” Gloria starts, kicking her legs. “Am I invited to go with you to San Diego or you just going to abandon me, like everyone else?”

 

Nick wants to snap, ask who in her life has left her, who has turned their back, or just expected a phone call from the police? Nobody. She’s had a gifted life, he knows that, and a part of him wants to destroy that, rip her fragile little resolve apart, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead, he shrugs. “If you want. I’m gonna talk to my mom about it, next family day,” and there it is, he’s resolved in this now. He doesn’t exactly know where Troy lives, just that it’s a ranch, near the border, south of San Diego, it sounds like a good place to start over.

 

She leans forward, kissing his cheek. “Let’s do it, Nicky, let’s start over, you and me.”

 

-

 

“You want to move to San Diego?” his mom repeats, blinking owlishly. Travis is sitting there, just as disbelieving, and Alicia, is, once again, ripped from her phone to look at her brother in disbelief. “But, San Diego is two hours away.”

 

“Exactly, it’s only a couple hours drive, or even train ride, it’s not that far. I’m thinking it would be good for me, to be somewhere new, somewhere fresh after all this…” he says, motioning to the rehab facility, his fourth in just twenty years of life. “And maybe, after I’ve established myself there, maybe go back to school, finish my degree, go into medicine? Chemistry? I was talking to my counselor and she thinks me learning more about pharmaceuticals could actually prove to help me in the long run, seeing more of the scientific side of things. Or maybe I’ll go into writing, she said I’m rather creative, I could be an author one day, but I feel like I need to break away from all this.”

 

Troy agreed, he thought Nick could be a writer. He was sure that Nick could do anything he wanted

 

His mom, ever vigilant, looks towards Gloria, whose sitting across the room, chatting with her parents who are talking about flying to New York for Christmas. Even at this distance he can hear their plans to see the tree lighting in Rockefeller Center, and have drinks at the Plaza; hot cocoa not alcohol. “Would she be going?” his mom asks, and Nick shrugs, because he doesn’t know.

 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Travis chimes, and his mom whips around, like she’s just been met with the ultimate betrayal. “A good clean break from your dealers, your friend here, it could help you, a lot, son.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, I…”

 

“Nick,” the receptionist calls, clipboard in hand. “Nick Clark.”

 

“Yeah?” he stands, looking to her. That was normally the tone, the presence she exuded when calling them when family arrive but all of his family was here, sitting with him, so what could she be calling to him now?

 

She steps aside, letting a man walk in, dressed in tattered jeans and red flannel, hair somewhere between fluffy and carelessly combed. His hands are in his pockets as he approaches, eyes looking over Nick as he walks over. Even before he speak, Nick knows this can only be one person, “Not feeling blue, are ya, Nicky?” Troy asks, like when he did on the phone when Nick was having a bad day, and Nick is there, wrapping the older man in a hug, patting his back as Troy laughs. “You’re a scrawny shit, aren’t ya? Figured you would be.”

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Nick laughs, pushing Troy’s shoulder, hand rubbing up and down his arms, eyes doing their own assessment of his build; lean, muscular, a farmer. “What are you doing here?”

 

“You told me it was family day, figured I’d make the drive up, meet you in person. Can’t say I’ve seen a heroin addict before but you’re looking good.”

 

“Should have seen me a couple months ago, man, I looked like shit. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I detoxed.”

 

“Need to get you on the ranch, get you some muscle, or else the zombies, one day, will break those noodles you call arms,” Troy teases, looking over to Nick’s family, eyes pausing on Travis. Nick had learned that a lot of Troy’s racism was spewed straight from his father, Jeremiah, and that Troy’s brother Jake hadn’t picked up on the horrible trait. He’d been getting better, Nick knew that, in fact, Troy had told him he’d even gone to the cultural center last week to learn move about the natives to the land they lived on. The man in charge, Qaletaqa Walker, had been more than surprised to see him, but had welcomed him, if not warily, to learning. It was a process, but Troy was trying, and Nick had to commend him for at least that.

 

Now that he was here in person, Nick was able to pinch him for his gaze lingering a bit to long on Travis. “This is my family,” Nick said, leading him over. “My mom, Madison, the step-dad, Travis, and my little sister, Alicia,” he introduced, Troy shaking their hands with minimal hesitation when it came to Travis.

 

That didn’t stop him, however, from asking Travis’ native heritage, and Nick shook his head. Baby steps.

 

Nick took his seat again, Troy pulling a chair up next to him, wrapping an arm around him, declaring, “Nicky and I were penpals..” when his mom asked how Troy and Nick knew each other. “...my family owns a ranch south of San Diego..”

 

He answers all the questions (how old are you? Where did you go to school? What’s your current employment status?), smiling, polite even if it’s disingenuous, he’s making an effort on making a solid impression with Nick’s family. “San Diego,” Madison repeats, looking to Nick. “Nick was just telling us he was thinking of moving out to San Diego.”

 

“Were you?” Troy asks, an eager puppy, going for his hand, holding it in his excitement. “You gonna move to the ranch, Nicky?”

 

He sees his mom mouth ‘Nicky’ to Alicia, having heard it the second time from Troy’s mouth without so much of the ever present scolding Nick often administered.

 

“Please,” he rolls his eyes. “I’d rather not deal with you and your chickens, and temperamental horse, thanks. I already handle you.”

 

Troy glares before grabbing him into a headlock, ruffling at his hair as Nick, none-too-gently tries to free himself with sharp jabs to Troy’s abdomen. “Handle me, do you?” he yanks Nick hard, pulling him forward till they’re more wrestling then rough housing. Nick laughs, wrapping his arms around Troy’s middle, trying to pull him free from his chair, as if this is a battle of chicken, and whoever falls first loses; its fun.

 

A throat clearing draws their attention, and it’s Gloria, standing behind them, looking on curiously. “Whose this, Nicky?”

 

Troy glares, hard. In fact, if this was their zombie universe, and Gloria walked up to him, Nick had the suspicion that Gloria would be one of Troy’s experiments in a heartbeat. Maybe she wouldn’t even be an experiment, he would just straight up kill her, and if that’s not disturbing, Nick isn’t sure what is. “This is Troy. Troy, this is Gloria.”

 

“I surmised,” he grumbles, eyes still dangerously narrowed.

 

She extends her hand in greeting, and Troy turns away, leaving the room cold enough for the penguins to march through. She’s offended, visibly so, bristling further when Troy puts his arm around Nick, pulling him close. “So, San Diego, you can stay with me, I have a spare room, or, if you want, my brother has a three bedroom place in the city, he’s a big shot lawyer and all..”

 

“Wait, are you moving to San Diego for _him_ …”

 

Gloria asks at the same time his mother says, “I don't think San Diego is the best idea..”

 

“I think San Diego sounds like a great idea,” Alicia laughs, clearly amused by the whole situation, and they’re all putting Nick in the middle of their opinions.

 

“Okay, I’m 20 years old, I don't need anyone’s permission to go anywhere, if I want to go, I’ll go,” put a stop to his mother’s over protective yammering. But this time, it doesn’t seem overprotective it seems frightened, her stare on Troy, her eyes saying something that Nick couldn’t exactly pick up on. Troy, on the other hand, looks proud, pulling him closer by the arm on Nick’s shoulder, beaming.

 

“You’ll come to the ranch because you love me,” he whispers and Nick shoves him, unable to stop himself from smiling, have no ability to cook up a denial. “I got an open bed, just say the word..”

 

“We’ll discuss it,” his mom, and spitefully he calls her Madison in his head, tells Troy, and Nick glares at her in turn. His choice, why did nobody get that?

 

All and all, it wasn’t the worst family day he’d ever had.

 

-

 

“So what? You’re just gay now? Moving off to a ranch to be with some guy you barely know in San Diego?” Gloria spat as he packed the few things he had accumulated while in Sunrise. He didn’t need to justify his actions to her, didn’t need to justify them to anyone. If he wanted to check himself out three weeks early to go to San Diego, then he would check himself out three weeks early to go to San Diego. He’d come back to LA for Christmas, he owed his mom at least that much, but this decision was his, and he was making it.

 

“You’re just going to leave me here, with those people? Last time I checked, you said you loved me…”

 

“While I was high,” he pointed out, nothing he said when he was high could be considered what he was actually feeling. Only after he came down, could you trust his words, he knew that, she should know that. “It’s not about you, Gloria, this is about me, about my life, and my choices. I don't have to explain it to you.”

 

“Yes, you do! I’m….everything we’ve been through together and you’re just..”

 

“Together?! You mean every time you took me out to score after helping me break out of rehab? What have you done for me except make sure you helped me get high?”

 

“I got you to Sunrise!”

 

“Because your parents were forcing you to come to Sunrise!” he rebutted before sighing out his agitation, calming himself. “We can still be friends, I guess, but...this relationship, it’s over, i’m starting over, without you.”

 

He should have been prepared for the slap that followed, he knew Gloria didn’t take no for an answer--she’d grown up getting her way--and he knew she had clung to him for so long. He had clung to her, and maybe it wouldn’t work out with Troy, maybe he’d come crawling back, but he owed it to himself to try. To try to start a new life, a new world, something that was all about him.

 

Alicia understood. Why couldn’t anyone else?

 

He let the slap simmer, shouldering his bag, exiting his room, leaving her in the shadow of the druggie he once was. His counselor was sad to see him go, but was confident, after seeing him with Troy, that he was making the right decision.

 

It was a brave new, unfamiliar, world for him, but as he boarded the Pacific Surfliner with service to San Diego, he knew he’d be okay.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope you all enjoyed. All kudos and comments are super appreciated!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read.


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